Addiction
by poestheblackcat
Summary: John Winchester and his overwhelming need to hunt down the thing that killed his Mary. Refers to events from the pilot and In the Beginning.


AN: Okay, so I wrote this fic a while back and didn't post it. I guess because this is supposed to be the first of a three-part series and I wanted to post them all at once, but I guess I'll just offer this as a peace offering for those few who are waiting for the next chapter of my ongoing story that I haven't updated in a while. I'm workin' on it!

Thanks to DamaDeHonor for editing and commenting. Glomp! Heh.

Disclaimer: Don't own anything, they belong to Kripke, blah blah-blah blah.

**Addiction**

John

I know what I'm doing is wrong. On the road half the time and living in sleazy second-rate motels and rundown apartments infested with vermin the rest of it.

A hunter's life is no way to raise two children, and I know it. But that's what I'm doing, and goddamnit, I know what Mary would say if she knew—Bobby's voiced his opinion often enough over the years—but I _have_ to do this.

Finding whatever killed Mary and destroying every other evil creature on the way; the need for revenge burns in my blood and courses through my veins.

It overwhelms me at times, looking at my older boy's too-old eyes in his young face, hearing him tell me—his father, "It's okay, Dad," after a particularly difficult hunt. He shouldn't have to do that. He was seven frikkin' years old the first time he said it.

And Sammy, always going around wearing shabby clothes much too small for him. Growing too fast for our measly income to keep up with. He wants to get away and be "normal." I'd had it for most of my life, Dean had had it for four years, but normalcy had ended for Sam at six months of age with his mother's bleeding body burning over his crib.

I'm ruining my sons' lives, and I know it. They deserve better.

So I tell my baby boy to go out live his own life in the only way I know how—"You step out that door, boy, don't even bother comin' back." Sammy wouldn't go otherwise. He's ornery like that, just like his old man.

And Dean? His chances at growing up to any life other than hunting are close to nil now, thanks to the way I've raised the boy. I cringe to think what Dean's life could have been like had I stayed out of hunting, away from the addiction to revenge. My son is a bright boy, every bit as smart as his brother, but every chance out of this life, I've crushed for him.

I know all this, but I can't help it. The pull to find the thing that killed Mary is too strong. It fills every bit of my body and oozes out of every pore. It is the only thing driving me on from day to day.

It's even more powerful now, more than it's been in a long time, since I've figured it all out; well, not _all_, but enough to tell me what I'm dealing with. It's Dean again. It all goes back to him.

That man back in '73, the year Mary and I got married, Dean Van Halen, that was my Dean. I see him leaning against the front of the car, his arms crossed and wearing my old leather jacket, and I flash back thirty years. A little older, but they had the same hair, same eyes, same smirk, hell, same cocky attitude. I don't know how, but as soon as I realize it I know. I should have realized it sooner.

Then I remember how he'd looked at me, as if he knew me and couldn't believe his eyes. "Do we know each other?" I'd asked. Well, he sure knew me. He'd just landed in 1973 from thirty-some years in the future—no wonder he was a bit dazed, not hung-over. I remember the strange things he'd said—Sonny and Cher did break up, just like he'd mentioned. And that odd-looking hunk of plastic he had in his hand—a cell phone.

The Impala still is bad-ass at darn near forty years old. I'm glad I let him talk me into buying it that day. But the questions he'd asked—I'm angry at myself for not realizing it for so long.

He'd been trying to see if there were signs of demonic activity. Cold spots and sulfur. It was a demon, the thing that killed Mary. And Dean knew. Whatever it was, it had started then, ten years before the fire. He was looking for it, but something had occurred back then so that he couldn't stop it all from happening over again. Maybe he'd been kil—no, he was probably pulled back to his own time, whenever that happened to be.

It all falls into place, and the need to avenge Mary's death flares up again, burning brighter than it has in years. But I keep a leash on it—my boys can't be involved in this particular hunt. It's too dangerous. They are the only things I have left of Mary, aside from pictures and memories. Sam's gone, but Dean's still with me, just as loyal as ever.

So I leave. I leave Dean the first chance I get—to keep him safe from the sonofabitch—and send him on a wild goose chase trying to find a trail to track me down like I know he would. A half-finished hunt, coordinates to another one. He's a smart boy, he'll be able to figure it out. And he'll be safe, like Sam is safe far away from it all at Stanford.

As for myself, I go back to Lawrence for the first time since the fire and look into demonic omens that happened around there in April of 1973. Cattle deaths, electrical storms, and power failures. That sends me flying across the country tracking down demonic omens going back as far as I could find them.

Then I discover one in Palo Alto. Sam. Sammy is no longer safe. It's after him. I rush to Stanford but I'm too late. A fire has gutted the building Sam and his girlfriend, Jessica Moore, lived in. But Sammy, my baby boy, where is he? Is he all right?

He's not dead. The only body found was Jessica's. So where is he?

I've gotten a lot of messages from Dean. _"Where are you, Dad?" "Dad, I need to know you're alright. Call me." "Dad, I'm getting worried here. Can you just call me, please? Let me know you're okay." _I never answer. It's to keep him safe.

But the last one stops the hammering in my heart. _"Dad. It's Dean. I've got Sam…I don't know if you've heard, but there was a fire and Sam's girlfriend died. We think it might be whatever killed Mom. Jess was on the ceiling with—with a cut across her stomach. I guess you're not gonna call me back. Hell, I don't even know if you get these, but just lettin' you know Sammy's okay. He's hurting, but I got him."_

Both my boys are safe. And I can keep on looking for that demonic bastard. I'm gonna kill him for killing Mary and for hurting my baby boy. Both my boys.

* * *

AN: So, what do you think? Am I forgiven for not updating? (Those of you who are actually reading that story)


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